Falling in Love in a Summer Storm
by CrissColferL0ve
Summary: A pale boy, naked and shivering, with eyes the colour of a stormy winter sky steps out from behind the trees and changes Blaine's life forever.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello :) So, this is a fic that came a bit suddenly to me for no reason at all and I was out and started writing this poem in memos on my phone and it became something I wanted to write more of. SO, I don't actually own anything Glee-related, but I do own the poem and it's really the first poem I've written, so hopefully it's okay. This is a little bit different and maybe odd compared to my average fic, but I love writing like this and I hope someone enjoys it at least a little bit! Thank you to Rebecca (m-arvel) for helping me search for a suitable title. We ended up settling on Falling in Love in a Summer Storm, which is taken from the poem below, which I suppose is untitled, or maybe goes by the same name as the title of this fic, I haven't thought it that far through. Also, thanks to Denise (hearteyesanderson) for reading it beforehand and telling me it wasn't too weird. I hope you feel better Denise! I'm rating it M just in case.**

* * *

In the winter warmth,  
and the summer freeze,  
he dances merrily  
through the breeze.

When the autumn is nigh,  
and the spring is gone,  
he falls in love  
in a summer storm.

He has pale blue eyes,  
pale rosebud lips,  
and his pale skin's soft  
beneath his finger tips.

From his pale, dark chest,  
his hammer heart is torn,  
and he flees with it as he sleeps,  
one pale, dark morn.

Ashen lashes dance,  
'til the tears run out,  
and a frozen kiss is pressed  
to a warm, dry mouth.

He wakes when the sharp, dark hands  
of the clock touch nine,  
and the bed's so cold,  
tears frozen dry.

And he waits 'til the sun  
falls out of the sky,  
'til the night returns  
and the moon is white,  
there's a ghost of a boy,  
so broken and bright.

He covers his head  
to shield from the pain,  
but when he wakes in the morn,  
the pain's back again.

And he waits  
waits  
waits  
waits  
as the seasons change and die,  
but the memory stays,  
of a beautiful boy,  
and he's there,  
but he's not,  
and his golden eyes fade,  
to a dark rusted colour,  
like the promises made.

He misses the taste  
of his bitter-sweet kiss,  
still thinks he can feel  
soft hair-tugging fists,  
and he waits  
waits  
waits  
waits some more,  
and as he watches the trees,  
he feels broken and torn.

And when the snowflakes shiver  
and dance through the air,  
he swears it's his song  
in the snow he can hear,  
and just when he decides  
he can take it no more  
and climbs to his feet,  
there's a rap at the door.

When he slides the clasp free,  
his breath catches hard,  
there stands a boy naked  
in the icy, cold yard.

Brittle leaf debris shudders  
in the chestnut of his hair,  
and the other boy  
blinks  
pinches his arms  
shakes,  
can't believe that he's there.

He shivers  
shivers  
shivers  
'til he's warm from his touch,  
he's silent, eyes filling,  
he's missed him so much.

They cry silent tears,  
'til the night turns to day,  
something snaps like a twig,  
and there's so much to say.

The light's back in his eyes,  
and the anger, it fades,  
and he kisses his mouth,  
beneath the tree shades.

And when summer returns,  
he's long back in love,  
wakes to the face  
he's spent hours  
days  
months  
years  
dreaming of,  
he makes the boy swear  
that he'll vanish no more,  
and the boy bites his lip,  
'til sweet, red blood is drawn.  
Like copper, like iron,  
like their love in strength,  
and he wants to  
wants to  
wants to  
say yes  
yes  
yes,  
to a promise he knows  
he's not sure can be kept.

Their bodies entwine,  
and their shadows form one,  
this time is the first,  
and they cry once its done.

A connection of body,  
of heart and of mind,  
he sees tiny moons fall  
in the bright of his eyes.

There's blue and there's gold—  
vivid colour—  
not black and not white,  
and they drift wrapped together,  
in the life of the night.

When the cool, morning air,  
stings shock on their skin,  
eyes flutter awake,  
and a new life begins.

**Chapter 1:**

**Winter.**

There's a flicker, almost like a quick, sparking light in the bare, cold trees and Blaine Anderson stops, squints, bends to find if his eyes or the light or the cold of the season is playing tricks. He watches, watches, watches for a second, a minute, an hour and there it is again. It's fast, like an animal, like a gazelle in the distance, but it's the wrong shape entirely. There's a shadow, a glittering flicker in the far away forest behind the Anderson house and Blaine runs, runs, walks to the door, hesitates, then pulls it open in one slick movement.

It's dark and dull and the sky's blue-grey and his eyes widen, search, seek, yearn to see the shape again, but it's gone. It's cold, so cold, and his teeth chatter until he's forced to close the door, safe, shutting out the wind and the sleet and the mystery. Blaine stays in the lonely window, in the lonely house, watching, waiting, wanting, but suddenly, he doesn't feel so alone.

* * *

**Spring.**

Spring passes. New lives begin. Bare feet dance through the bright, new blades, flowers of pink and yellow sunshine rest in rich, brown locks. Golden eyes strain, but do not see.

* * *

**Summer.**

He hears the song. It's pretty, like a bird's, but there is no lark perched in the height of the tree. Blaine listens, closes his eyes, waits for the melody to drift again, but he doesn't hear it for the remainder of the day.

It comes like a dream, one midsummer's night, when the rain starts to fall and the smell outside is Blaine's favourite smell. It's fresh and green and the sky feels free and he hears the song again, the pitter-patter of the falling rain like a rhythmic, drumming instrument. It's closer now than it was before and Blaine goes to the centre of the garden, where the old swing-set creaks and shimmies in the soft, warm breeze. The voice is high and beautiful and the flicker returns in the trees. It's slower now and when Blaine moves forward, he sees blue eyes. They're intense, wide and watching and his heart beat races like a rollercoaster on a downwards trip.

"Please," Blaine begs in a whisper. "Please, come out."

The eyes flash and they're dangerous, but Blaine cannot move a muscle. They pierce him like knives, but he stays and he waits. He feels like he has been waiting his entire life for this precise, frightening, thrilling moment. The song continues. It's slow at first and the eyes don't budge, but there's a lilt in his voice, a quiver, or a shake and Blaine knows there's fear on both sides of the trees.

"Your voice," Blaine says. "It's wonderful, like a calming lullaby, but it's sad. So sad." He pauses, waits for a response which never comes. "Why are you so sad, beautiful boy?"

The word 'boy' slips out. He cannot pinpoint just what it is that tells him that this is a boy, but he knows. Perhaps it is the way those eyes touch his heart, even in the shade of the Lincoln green leaves.

The song slows and halts and the leaves rustle. Blaine lowers his eyes and sees the pale, bare foot. He holds his breath and waits, but the movement is stilled.

"No," Blaine gasps out. "Please, come out. There's no one but me."

Seconds go by with no other moves and then when the clock in the house strikes 6 on the dot, the leaves shake and quiver and a pale body slips from behind the concealment. It's a boy, Blaine knows, because the pale body is devoid of a morsel of clothing. He's shivering, even in the warm, summer rain and his pale eyes are wide and filled with the fear of a deer in the headlights.

"You're cold," Blaine observes.

The boy's eyes blink once. Blaine stares for a while, his cheeks tinting pink and the rain starts to fall harder, the pitter-patter more of a thumping beat now. He shifts his feet and reaches out. He takes the boy's hand and it's cold, icy.

"Come inside and warm up," Blaine tells him. And he feels he must stress, "I'm all alone."

The boy follows Blaine, their hands clasped tightly and they go inside. Blaine closes the door, their hands still entwined and the ticking of the clock is the only sound now. He turns to the boy and sees he's still shaking and the colour of his eyes are clouded by the wet, building, salt water.

"Tell me your name," Blaine says, stepping closer.

The rose-pink lips part and somehow, his breath is visible, smokey. "Kurt," the boy says in a hushed tone, like it's a secret. "Kurt." He blinks twice. "I'm Kurt. And you." His lips tilt into a small and breath-stealing smile. "You are lovely."

"Blaine," he tells him. "I'm Blaine."

The boy shakes his head and lifts a pale finger. He presses it to Blaine's lips. It's cold and soft and makes him shiver visibly.

"Lovely," is all the boy says, before closing his eyes and humming his song once again.

* * *

Cool, shaking fingers are locked to warm, sweating ones and the clock is still ticking. Blaine leads the boy up the winding staircase and he's dizzy, delirious. The boy feels the cold tiles of the bathroom on the bottoms of his feet and he shudders so powerfully that he has to sit down. Blaine holds him steady, giving him a smile that appears steady, but is quivering and nervous.

The boy watches, humming no more, as Blaine fiddles with the knob on the shower wall. The water strikes the tiles with a bubbling slap and soon the room is filling with steam, hot and heavy and close to too much. Blaine rolls his sleeves up his arms, reaches out with his free hand and tests the waters. He turns, smiles, tugs gently on Kurt's hand in his own.

"A shower will warm you up," he explains, like Kurt doesn't speak English.

Kurt nods, takes the few steps forward and then drops to a seated position in the cubicle of the shower. Blaine watches curiously and they let go, hands dropping. He leaves a berry coloured towel on the rack near the shower and turns to exit, to give the boy some privacy.

"No!"

He turns back, sees the boy's eyes, wide and pleading.

"Stay," he says, softly.

Blaine hesitates, then moves to sit on the edge of the bath tub. The boy's long legs are on the tiles, knees over the ridge of the coral pink shower floor. He sits back and hisses as the steaming water hits his skin, turning the pale, pale white to a strawberries-and-cream pink. His eyes are closed, head flung back, hair darker as it sticks to his head. He grabs the shampoo bottle and pops the lid with a snap and then presses a blob into the centre of his wet palm. It's blue, the shampoo, and he studies it through mostly-lidded eyes, before reaching up high and massaging it carelessly into his hair.

This lasts for a few seconds, before the boy leans back again and allows the water to rinse it out, then he's bending forward, groaning, grabbing for the towel. He presses it to his face, body shaking still and breathes there for a while. Blaine does not move an inch, he stays, sits, watches, wonders if he should look away. He keeps his attention on the boy's feet. They're dirty underneath, grass-stained and tiny pieces of grit are stuck in the creases.

The boy, Kurt, sits back again and lets the water fall on him, like a hot torrent, or a waterfall of heat and he can't remember the last time he washed in hot water. His mind is filled with images of the cool lake and how he'd bathed there, daydreams of mermaids and knights on pearl-white horses arriving to whisk him away to foreign lands of mystery and beauty and everlasting love.

Kurt raises his eyes to the boy who took him in from the cool summer air and he smiles.

"My handsome, valiant knight."

And then the world goes dark.

* * *

He wakes, eyes blurred. It's dark and he wonders if he's dead, if this is the afterlife. The world comes back into focus, slowly, so painfully slow and the colours leak back into view. He sees the movement in his peripheral vision and he turns his head too quickly, twisting his neck. There's a sharp and then dull and temporary pain and he closes his eyes briefly, but opens them again, for fear that he'll drift back into the darkness.

The movement to his side is the boy, his knight, the one with the eyes.

"I'm alive," Kurt announces.

The boy, Blaine, he stills and turns fast and he's by Kurt's side before he can think of more words to speak.

"You can sleep more," Blaine tells him in a whisper. "You need it."

Kurt pushes himself up, looks around, feels dizzy. "How long...?"

"A couple of hours," Blaine says. "Didn't you sleep last night?"

Kurt's mind wanders back to the howl of the wolves and the stifling hot air, the haunting hoot of the looming owl. He shakes his head. "Wolves," he whispers, like that one word explains everything.

It doesn't.

Suddenly, a warm hand is on his shoulder, easing him back into the mattress. Kurt does not protest, for the bright, burning eyes are kind and on him in a way no eyes have ever been on him before.

"Lay with me."

Blaine stills again and then nods, uncertain. He kicks off his shoes and lays back next to Kurt, the bed dipping slightly. They lay in silence, both thinking about a stranger in a strange bed, a stranger who is not a stranger to one and a bed which is not strange to the other.

"What age are you?" Kurt whispers, tracing the cracks in the ceiling with his gaze.

"Seventeen," Blaine says.

"Me, too."

Hearts beat in silence for a minute more.

"You live alone?" Kurt makes it a question.

Blaine shakes his head, realises Kurt isn't looking. "No," he says.

"You're alone."

Blaine nods. "I'm alone."

Kurt turns on his side and his bones ache and creak. They shouldn't, he's young, but they do. He presses his warm mouth to Blaine's clothed shoulder, he can feel the heat radiating off of his body. He inches back, looks in his eyes.

"We can be alone together."

They smile, sleep, keep their hands clasped and the moon rises and falls and the sun comes up and the birds sing and two boys wake, still smiling. They stay right there until the alarm clock shrills and demands their attention, demands that they get up, face the unpredictable day.

It's not a bad one.

* * *

**I'll update soon, provided anyone's interested! Well, I'll update anyway lol. Let me know what you think! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello :) Thank you for those of you who have taken an interest in this, even if a few of you are confused! It's okay, Blaine's confused, too! Also, I thought I'd mention that Kurt isn't high :P There's some M stuff in here, but it's not too graphic or anything, because I don't think it would fit with the rest. I own nothing by the way.**

* * *

**Chapter 2:**

It's question time and the sun is burning between the clouds, the sky bright and glaring. Kurt is on his back, shirtless, smooth, pale skin on display. He's in the grass, staring at the sky, while Blaine sits with his legs crossed next to him, picking at daisies. He can't resist playing the 'he loves me, he loves me not game' inside his spinning mind.

"What's your last name?" Kurt asks.

Blaine answers easily. "Anderson."

_He loves me._

"Hummel," Kurt tells him. There's a pause, then, "Where do you go to school?"

"Dalton Academy."

_He loves me not._

There's a flicker in Kurt's eyes then, but he doesn't dwell on it. He simply hums and keeps looking at the sun.

"You?"

"I don't," Kurt says matter-of-factly.

_He loves me._

"You don't," Blaine repeats.

"I don't."

Blaine considers it. "But you must have, once."

_He loves me not._

"I don't go any more," he says. "I haven't for a while. Not going to school gives you freedom."

Blaine nods, can see how it's probably true.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Kurt asks and his mouth tilts up on one side.

"I want to perform."

_He loves me._

Kurt laughs in silence. "That's mysterious," he tells Blaine and Blaine cannot miss the irony there. "When you say perform, I assume you don't mean you want to be a stripper."

Blaine chuckles. "I like to sing."

_He loves me not._

"Are you a Warbler?"

Blaine's stunned. He stares at Kurt, with wide eyes and parted lips, but Kurt simply blinks up at the clouds.

_He loves me._

"Yes," is all Blaine is capable of saying and when Kurt nods knowingly, Blaine doesn't ask. Instead, he enquires, "What do you want to do in the future?"

_He loves me not._

"Live," Kurt says with a sigh so dreamy that Blaine swears that the tree leaves wilt and sag with him. "Take my place among the stars."

Blaine nods again, smiles, as he plucks the final petal, because yes, he can absolutely see that.

_He loves me._

* * *

They're in the kitchen and the smell of baking chocolate chip cookie dough is strong and overpowering. Kurt is dancing around the kitchen, barefoot and still shirtless and he's got a daisy in his hair. Blaine's cleaning up, eyes on Kurt, watching as he prances and moves with such grace and elegance. Blaine's got two daisies in his hair and grass stains on his elbows. Earlier, Kurt had leaned across and slipped the daisies through his curls.

"The sun's in your eyes," he'd told him, before letting his lips brush Blaine's knuckles. He had then proceeded to stand up and twirl his way across the yard until he had reached the back door of the house.

Blaine turns back to the oven and checks on the cookies. They're golden brown and some of them have Smarties in them, the colours running like watercolours. He grabs a pair of oven gloves. They're practically new, have never been worn. He carefully slides the tray out and places it on the counter. He kicks the door closed and switches off the oven and then takes a plate and piles the cookies onto it. They look like a golden brown mountain.

Kurt comes back then, he's smiling. He slides a chair out and sits down, so Blaine joins him, carrying the plate to the dinner table. Kurt studies the cookies for a few seconds too long and then he reaches out and pulls one from underneath. It's shaped like a deformed egg.

"It looks like a rocket ship," Kurt tells him, taking a small bite.

Blaine stares at the half eaten cookie. It looks nothing like a rocket ship.

"It looks like a deformed egg," Blaine says.

Kurt shakes his head and moves in closer and when he speaks, Blaine can feel his breath on the side of his neck. "Look closer," Kurt prompts.

He's close, so terribly, wonderfully close. Blaine looks at the cookie again. He stares for a while and suddenly, he sees it. _He sees it._

"A rocket ship," he says, sounding a little stunned.

Kurt giggles in approval and presses the cookie to Blaine's lips, forcing them apart. He slides the cookie inside and Blaine chews until he's eaten the rest. Kurt touches his arm briefly and then looks back at the plate of cookies. He spends a few moments deciding on the next one, eyes searching, wide and unblinking.

"Aha!" he cries, once he's found what he's looking for.

He reaches to the far left and grabs a slightly burnt one from the side. He slips it out from the cookie pile and holds it in the palms of his hands, smiles down at it adoringly.

"I made this one with you in mind," Kurt tells him, lifting his eyes to Blaine's. He holds out his hands and Blaine looks down and sees the cookie. It's shaped like a perfect heart, only the blackened curve on the left making it less than perfect, yet, somehow, it still seems so unflawed.

"Me?" Blaine breathes out, meeting Kurt's eyes.

Kurt nods and Blaine takes the cookie, holds it like it's a precious diamond.

"You're a lover, Blaine," Kurt tells him and he pushes Blaine's fingers to curl around the cookie. "We both are."

* * *

"Where are your parents?" Kurt asks three days later.

He's naked again—he doesn't like to wear clothes if it isn't absolutely necessary— and he's sitting on the living room couch, with his legs curled up under him. He's holding a gold-framed photo, one of Blaine's parents. They're dressed in black, like they're attending a funeral, but Blaine knows that the photo was taken on a happy occasion. He can't remember which one, because he doesn't remember being that happy.

"They travel a lot," Blaine explains. It doesn't hurt to say any more, not as much as it used to and for once, he's grateful that they aren't there, because he gets to keep Kurt around. He can't help wondering what his parents would say if they saw him, can't help wondering how he would introduce him. It's at that moment that Blaine realises he doesn't know much about Kurt at all.

"They leave you all alone," Kurt says, placing the frame back on the sidetable, but facedown.

"I'm used to it," Blaine tells him. "Tell me about your parents."

"Mom's dead. Dad remarried. I've got a step-mother and step-brother. My only regret is that she isn't evil." He stops and laughs. "Can you imagine being able to tell people you've got a wicked step-mother? It would be so desperately romantic and fairy tale-esque!"

Blaine smiles, loves how Kurt can drift away into magical lands without ever leaving his side. "Don't they wonder where you are?"

Kurt shrugs. "They'll find me if they want to." He dives across the sofa then, until his head is in Blaine's lap. "Tell me why you always wear clothes."

Blaine's cheeks heat up, his heart beat races. He shrugs nervously, awkwardly.

"It's just...habit?" he makes it a question.

Kurt grins. "You should wear less clothes," he says and he sounds breathless. Blaine looks away, embarrassed, but Kurt bounces up and tugs at his collar. "Are you scared to let me see you?"

Blaine only exhales. He feels hot and like he might choke. Suddenly, Kurt yawns and stretches like a cat. His body is so slender and long and when he reaches towards the stars, Blaine can see every one of his ribs. Blaine watches as he gets to his feet and grabs his hand. He lets him pull him into the bedroom and close the door.

"We're born naked," Kurt tells him. "What if you died in your sleep? Don't you ever want to die the way you were born?"

Blaine tries to think about that, but he can't. He doesn't understand most of the time, but he nods anyway, because Kurt is stunning.

"Take them off and climb under the covers with me."

Kurt touches his lips to Blaine's cheek, before turning around and getting into the bed. It's always a touch of his lips, never a real kiss. Blaine waits until Kurt closes his eyes and then he begins undressing. His heart is hammering noisily in his chest and he has no idea what is going to happen once he's naked and so desperately, hotly, madly close to Kurt, but he knows he won't regret it an inch. When he's finally devoid of all clothing, he tiptoes across the room and gets under the covers. Kurt opens his eyes and smiles.

"Will you let me see you?" he asks, touching Blaine's stomach with his fingers. They dance there and then move to grip his wrist gently.

Blaine cannot think, cannot tell Kurt that he's nervous, afraid, embarrassed, frightened. Instead, he opens his mouth and whispers a single word: "Yes."

Kurt moves to his knees and he drags the covers off the bed and flings them over the side. They make no sound as they land on the carpet. "Turn over," Kurt instructs and Blaine does just that.

He trusts him. He knows he shouldn't. He knows nothing about this boy, doesn't know what he's capable of. He thinks sometimes that Kurt's a bit crazy, but he's beautiful and the things he says blow Blaine's mind. He trusts him so completely that when he thinks about it further down the road, he'll frighten himself.

He feels Kurt's fingers on him then, feels the way they make him shiver and his entire body tickle giddily. They dance down his back and they still when they reach the side of his left hip, where the skin is raised slightly, where it's pink, paler. Kurt bends to get a better look and after studying the scar for three full minutes, he kisses it. It's the first time Kurt's kissed him anywhere.

"What happened?" he asks and he throws himself down over Blaine's back, so that they're pressed together. Blaine can feel every part of Kurt.

"I took a boy to a dance," he tells Kurt, swallowing hard. "His mom thought we looked cute together. Four seniors from our school didn't."

Kurt breathes a sad sigh into his neck and trails a hand down until it's pressed against the scar.

"You're beautiful," Kurt tells him.

"I'm scarred."

Kurt presses a hot kiss to the back of his neck and then breathes him in as he says, "We're all scarred."

"You?" Blaine asks, lifting his head.

Kurt nods. Blaine doesn't remember seeing anything out of place. He considers not moving, wanting to keep Kurt pressed to him like this, but he gives into temptation.

"Can I see?" he asks.

Kurt smiles against his shoulder, then flips over until he's lying on his back. Blaine turns on his side and lets his eyes travel down Kurt's body, trying not to let his gaze linger too low for too long.

"You can touch."

Kurt's words startle him, but he wants to touch him so. He reaches out and runs a single finger tip down Kurt's side and over the soft curve of his hip and then back up his stomach. Kurt turns over, like he knows Blaine wants to check every inch of him. Blaine touches his back, gets brave, lets his hands slide over the cheeks of his ass, touches the backs of his thighs and he can't find a single imperfection. He lays back and Kurt turns his head to look at him.

"You can't find them?" Kurt asks.

Blaine shakes his head.

"That's because mine are the type that aren't visible to the naked eye." He reaches out and takes Blaine's hand, presses it to his heart. "If you look deeper, gaze into my soul, into my heart, you'll see them. All of them. None are pretty. All left a painful, eternal mark."

Blaine thinks he can see them then, thinks he understands. He does it before he can stop himself: He twines his arms round Kurt's waist and pulls him into a warm embrace.

"We're not broken," Blaine tells him.

"Not yet," Kurt says, but he's smiling. "Give the world the chance and it'll pull us down with it."

"What do we do?" Blaine asks.

Kurt pulls back, but their arms are still around one another. Finally, he presses a soft, lingering kiss to Blaine's lips. "What do we do?" he asks and he kisses him again. "We hold on, Blaine." Another kiss. "We just hold on."

* * *

Kurt opens his eyes to see the rod of yellow light stabbing its way through the window and across the room. It bends where the closet door is slightly open and it covers the far wall, all the way across the door, like a bar, keeping them in, or perhaps keeping something out. He sits up, stretches, yawns noisily, before dropping his attention to the boy in the bed next to him.

He's astounding. He's wonderful. He's fear and hope and light and sadness and beauty and oxygen and love. Kurt's never met anyone like Blaine. He's quiet at times. He's pensive. He likes to sit and listen, think, stare, sometimes. Kurt catches him on occasion, feels his golden gaze burning a hole in his heart and he turns and finds those eyes, those big, bright, beautiful, sad eyes and they're simply on him. Sometimes he looks away, a pink blush colouring his cheeks like dusty pollen. Other times, he smiles and Kurt feels the fist squeezing inside his chest, feels the way his brain takes flight and pulls him up. It frightens him to the core, but he can't get enough, can't turn away. He won't.

Blaine mumbles in his sleep and Kurt's smile is easy and natural. He watches him turn, watches the way the blankets slip and reveal that curved scar on his hip. The smile becomes a frown and he wants nothing more than to wrap the boy up in his arms and keep him safe from all harm. He knows he can't, for if he was capable, he surely would have protected himself. He's failed at that so many times. He doesn't want to fail Blaine. He'll never allow himself.

Without much thought, Kurt wraps himself around the other boy, breathes in the raspberry scent of his curls and holds him like he's scared he'll disappear, vanish into sparkling dust. Blaine starts awake and he looks surprised for a split second, but relaxes then and settles in the circle of Kurt's arms. He turns over so that they are chest to chest.

"Good morning, sleepy head," Kurt says and then he feels it, pressing against his thigh. "Or should I say 'hard head'?"

Blaine blushes all the way down his chest, Kurt knows, he watches it spreading. He stammers and Kurt silences him with the press of his lips to Blaine's mouth.

"Leave your embarrassment in your dreams, lovely," he says, smiling. "This is perfectly natural." He takes Blaine's hand, ignoring the butterflies wearing heavy boots inside his body, and lowers it to his groin. Blaine swallows hard when he touches Kurt. "See?" Kurt says, breathlessly. "Perfectly natural."

Blaine nods his head, wordlessly and Kurt wants his hands on Blaine. It's something he's never wanted before with anyone else, but now, he wants it, wants it, wants it, wants it.

"Besides," he says, steadily. "I can fix it, if you'll let me."

Blaine closes his eyes. "What exactly...?"

Kurt kisses his eyelids and Blaine's eyes open again, bright and lovely. "Trust me?"

Blaine doesn't seem to hesitate. He nods and Kurt wants to tell him he's stupid, crazy, insane to trust someone who could so easily break him, even though he so desperately, horribly, painfully, passionately does not wish to.

Kurt lays back and pulls Blaine until he is draped across him. He slides his hand between them, carefully, searching, his heart hammering, hammering, hammering. He finds it then, it's hard and soft and silken and perfect. He helps Blaine rest his face in his neck. Blaine breathes heavily there, his fingers digging into Kurt's hips.

"So pretty," is all Kurt says as he begins to stroke Blaine slowly. "Has anyone done this for you before?"

Blaine breathes a 'no' into Kurt's skin. Kurt hums in satisfaction. He hates it, the idea of anyone else's hands on Blaine.

"Are you a virgin, Blaine?" Kurt asks, because suddenly he hates that there's a possibility that someone's been inside Blaine, that Blaine's been inside someone else.

He breathes a 'yes' this time and then he lifts his head and his eyes are half closed, his cheeks burning, like blood on the petal of a lily. He opens his swollen lips to ask, "Are you?"

Kurt smiles. He feels like admitting to it would be giving away the mystery, like it would make him less elusive, but he finds he is incapable of lying to Blaine, especially when he's willing to give so much of himself to Kurt, despite only having known him for a short time.

"Yes," Kurt says. "I've never touched anyone like this either."

Blaine smiles sleepily.

"You're my first everything," Kurt tells him and he means it more than he knows.

He strokes harder, faster, letting his thumb rub over the head, collecting some of the sweet-bitterness that has built there. Blaine's clinging to him now, the tips of his fingernails pressing harder, his breaths coming faster and he's biting back his moans, his sighs, his groans and whimpers and cries.

"It's okay to let me hear," Kurt promises, pressing a kiss to his sweaty temple.

Blaine does then, slowly. He lets go more and more and as he makes moan, Kurt feels as if he is speaking to him in a different language, a language they've created for just them and he understands, feels, grasps everything Blaine is telling him and with a final shout of Kurt's name, Blaine releases in the grip of his hand and it's hot and wet and sticky and it doesn't feel dirty, it doesn't feel any of the things it should feel. In lieu, it's the most spectacular thing Kurt has ever experienced.

He wipes his hand in the sheets and then Blaine reaches to touch Kurt, but he stops him. He's not ready yet, not ready to allow himself fall part at the hands of another, so he pulls Blaine close and holds him closer and they fall back asleep until the sounds of their stomachs makes them rise to go in search of food.

Naked, they eat cereal together, from a large mixing bowl and when they're almost done, Kurt reaches in and pushes his finger through the final hoop. He lifts it to Blaine's lips, a smile on his own and Blaine sucks it off. After that, they take a couple of bendy straws and drink until all the milk is gone.

They clean up and slip out into the backyard. They run, hearts beating fast, until they reach the back end, where they will be covered by the trees, where the neighbours won't report them for public nudity. There, beneath the canopy of the oaks, they kiss slowly and then frantically, until Kurt is stroking Blaine to climax once again. Later, they study the stars and Kurt turns to him, his eyes wide and glazed and as he tangles their legs together in a complicated lace, he whispers secretively.

"Go with me to the moon, Blaine. I want to touch the stars."

* * *

**Kurt seems a bit nutty, but still. Also, if the M stuff feels a bit rushed to anyone, I get that, it's just that they're moving fast for a reason. Let me know what you thought and thank you for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Insert disclaimer stuff here~ Hello and thank you to those who are reading and reviewing this! I might not be able to update for a couple of weeks because my exams start on Monday blah. But I hope you like this chapter :) **

* * *

**Chapter 3:**

Once upon a time, there was a boy who liked tea parties. At night, he slept beneath his floral duvet in a tall bed with a treasure chest at its foot. Inside, was a collection of glittering tiaras, of all shapes and sizes and the boy cherished them, as if every diamond was authentic. He could not wear the tiaras when he left the confines of the castle, for others disliked them on him, he had the purple bruises to prove it. He wanted to wear them, wanted to show them off and feel like royalty. He was not a girl, but he dreamt of his handsome prince, riding into the school playground to take him to far off places and this, it seemed, was a problem amongst his peers.

Like in all fairy tales, the brave, young boy had to fight and remain strong in order to reach his destiny.

This is not a fairy tale.

Now, that boy likes to dance barefoot through the seasons. He likes the feel of the cool air on his bare skin. He likes to run his fingers through silken, dark curls. He likes to wake in the mornings and find that he is not alone. He lets himself fall into a set of warm, honey eyes and he basks in their sweetness and wonder.

He still wishes for that happily ever and for once, he feels like he might be on the road to obtaining it.

* * *

There's a ringing sound and the day is far too young for such incessant ringing. Blaine blinks himself awake and catches Kurt covering his face with his pillow. He leaves him there to sleep and then gets to his feet to answer the phone in the kitchen. He wears no clothes, he seldom does any more and it's a tad cold. The phone does not stop ringing, despite the length of time it takes him to reach it.

"Hello?"

"There you are," says his mother's voice. She is impatient. "Our flight is in an hour, Blaine. We'll see you tonight."

He hangs up and goes back to bed, but he does not sleep, he worries, for where will his dazzling boy go now?

* * *

"They're coming back," Kurt says when he wakes.

It isn't a question.

Blaine nods.

"I'll go," Kurt tells him, but he doesn't move a muscle.

Suddenly, fingers wrap around his wrist protectively. He lifts his head to look into the eyes he's in which he finds so much comfort.

"Don't go," Blaine begs in a whisper. "I need you."

And Kurt cannot walk away from that.

* * *

He's spent so many weeks around the house with Kurt that it feels strange to wear clothes. It's as if he is aware of the layers against his skin and he hates it. Kurt's still naked and he's in his bed, assured that Blaine's parents will not come to his bedroom. He catches Blaine's eye in the mirror as Blaine finishes gelling his hair and Blaine sees a pale arm slipping out of the side of the bed. He turns and goes to Kurt, takes the outstretched hand.

"You look exactly as I remember you," Kurt tells him with a shy smile.

Blaine doesn't understand, but he knows now not to ask.

"You look nervous."

"I'm not nervous," Blaine says. "I just don't want to have to deal with them."

Kurt nods, like he understands. They both know he doesn't.

"How will they not know I'm here?"

"They're hardly ever here," Blaine tells him. "You'll see, they'll be gone again in a couple of days. You'll just have to be extra quiet." He bends to hold him, to press a kiss to his lips. It still amazes him that he can just do that now, that it's okay.

Kurt smirks against his lips. "I am not the loud one."

"Only because you won't let me touch you."

Kurt looks away, loosens his grip on Blaine's arms. Blaine feels his stomach dipping. He chases him with his hands.

"I didn't mean anything," he swears.

"I can't," is all Kurt says. It's all he ever says on the topic.

"That's okay," Blaine tells him. He can't deny that he wants to feel Kurt everywhere, wants to have him in his hand, on his skin, but Kurt isn't comfortable with that and he'll never push, not ever, because he's already half way in love and he can't jeopardise that, he won't. "That's okay," he says again.

Kurt is smiling again. He reaches up and touches his hand to Blaine's cheek. It's soft. "Oh, Blaine," he says, dreamily. "Sweet, charming, lovely Blaine. Nothing is okay, don't you know?"

There isn't time to ask questions. A door slams. His parents are back.

* * *

"Do you think there are colours that haven't been discovered yet?" Kurt whispers against Blaine's mouth that night when the house is quiet and unmoving.

Blaine kisses him lazily, briefly, sweetly. "There must be," he decides.

"We should look for them!" Kurt says, with as much enthusiasm as one can muster when they are restricted to less than a whisper.

Blaine smiles at him and allows him to tug him from the warmth of their bed (_theirs theirs theirs_) and over to the window. Kurt drags the drapes away and slides the window open and Blaine panics.

"You'll fall!" he hisses.

Kurt giggles and climbs up onto the narrow sill, grabbing Blaine's hand at the same time and urging him to come along. Blaine does, because he doesn't think there is much he would refuse should Kurt as it of him. Kurt slips out the window without a hitch and Blaine wonders if he can fly, because there is nothing to give away his fear or nervousness.

Blaine follows and they make it onto the flat roof of the extension unscathed. They sit together, naked and close.

"I half expected you to grow wings," Blaine mutters ad Kurt's face lights up with a smile.

"Like a bird?"

"Like an angel." He's blushing, but he doesn't care.

"An angel," Kurt whispers, mostly to himself, Blaine thinks.

"My angel," Blaine dares to say and Kurt looks at him again.

"Your guardian angel," he says, taking Blaine's hands in his own. "Here to protect you always."

Blaine leans in and kisses the tip of his nose. It's cold. "Show me your colours, angel."

Kurt giggles again, musically, and then he turns to look out over the dead houses beyond the dark trees.

"There!" Kurt exclaims, grabbing Blaine's arm with one hand and pointing across to their right with the other.

Blaine lifts his chin to look, but all he can see is a dark street, lit with only one light. It's dull, but it's there.

"What is it?" Blaine asks and he can't help but wonder if Kurt sees something else entirely. Perhaps a circus, or a flying chimpanzee.

"That area, way over there, it's a colour, Blaine," Kurt explains. "It's called 'grope'."

Blaine splutters. "Grope?" he asks with amusement.

"Yes," Kurt confirms. "It's grey, dark, but there's a light, one twinkle, a single glimmer of hope."

"Grope," Blaine repeats experimentally. "I like that."

"Do you think there's always hope?" Kurt asks then and his voice has dropped.

Blaine looks at him, thinks about his life before Kurt walked into it and he nods. "Always," he tells him, pressing their foreheads together. "Always."

"What's your favourite colour, Blaine?"

"You," he says. "You're my favourite colour."

The smile is back and it's as big and as beautiful as it's always been. "You're mine, too," Kurt tells him as he presses him back on the hard, dark slabs. Kurt's hand slips down his body and touches him where he's begun to twitch with interest. Blaine can see his breath in the air when he exhales with a stammer. It's like fog, mist, smoke.

"He-here?" Blaine asks and when Kurt nods, he goes on, "What if someone sees?"

"We can introduce a voyeur's fee," Kurt says as he begins to stroke firmly.

Blaine chuckles and his eyes fall shut.

"You make me crazy, you know," Kurt says.

Sometimes, Kurt will admits these little things and it reminds Blaine that he's human, that he isn't some sort of imaginary pixie he's fabricated.

"I do?" Blaine gasps out.

"Mm hmm," Kurt tells him. He drops until his breath is stiflingly hot on Blaine's ear. "You turn me on, make me so hard."

Kurt cheeks are burning and Blaine presses a hand to the small of his back.

"Let me get you off," Blaine says.

Kurt stops, sits back, stops touching him. Blaine sits up, horror on his face.

"It's not about getting you off," Kurt says and he looks like he is about to cry. He's rocking gently back and forth. "It's never about getting you off."

Blaine stares, silent. Then he asks because he has to know, "What is it about?"

Kurt looks tormented and beautiful. He stares at the sky for a long time. He looks at Blaine after that, drops to hover over him, so that their faces are close.

"Promise to let me finish until you make assumptions?"

Blaine nods his promise and Kurt relaxes with his chin on Blaine's chest.

"It's partially about control."

Blaine stops himself from expressing his offence.

"Please don't take that the wrong way," Kurt says and he kisses Blaine's chest once. "I've never been in control of anything. I've always been the one that got hurt, the one they left aside, didn't listen to. You," he says and he smiles, "you listen to me. You hold me, trust me, make me feel like I'm worth something. You give me control and I didn't know how much I craved that until I had you in my hand." He looks down, blushes. "I like that I can make you feel good. I like that you want me to. I like how you look when I touch you." He sighs. "It's control to an extent, but not in a sinister way. The rest of it is because I feel close to you like I've never felt close to anyone else ever before."

Blaine gives him a smile. He understands. For once, he understands.

"I'm...not ready to give...to give anyone any sort of control over my body. I can't let my guard down. I'm afraid to." He smiles sadly. "I bet you thought I was afraid of nothing."

"We're all scared of something," Blaine tells him. "But I need you to know that you don't have to be afraid of me. I would never make you feel unequal."

"I know," he replies. "Please don't think I don't want you to," he pleads. "I do, I just can't let myself give in."

Blaine sits up and Kurt is forced to sit up, too. He takes Kurt's hips in his hands and guides him until he's pressed against Blaine.

"You don't have to lose control," Blaine promises, kissing his lips. "Trust me?"

Kurt hesitates, but nods as he chews on his bottom lip. Blaine slides his foot back until his knee is bent and then he twists until Kurt's cock is semi-hard against his thigh. Kurt's breath catches.

"Blaine...?"

"Move your hips," Blaine whispers.

Blaine can almost see the cogs spinning behind Kurt's ocean blue eyes, can almost see the waves crashing against the rocks, tumultuous, lost, unruly.

"Okay," he says and he looks so young.

Blaine lays still as Kurt reaches down to touch him again and as he starts to stroke, he pushes his hips forward so that he is grinding against his thigh. Blaine hears the way Kurt's breath catches, feels how he clings to him, takes in the fact that Kurt looks entirely human, if beautiful. Usually, he looks other-worldly, like something Blaine has conjured up in his mind. Now, he is vulnerable and letting go and Blaine can't remember ever seeing anything more enchanting in his entire life.

The air is warm against their skin and Blaine feels himself getting closer, but he wants, wants, wants to remain like this, to have Kurt fall apart against him like this until the end of time. Much to his surprise, Kurt comes first, with a hiss of Blaine's name slithering past his lips and he falls against him, quickening the strokes of his hand and Blaine cannot hold back a moment longer. He lets go, too and they lie there against each other, breathing, panting, fighting for air. It's beautiful and monumental and Blaine doesn't want to move.

"Can we go back inside?" Kurt asks, not meeting his eyes.

"Wait," Blaine says and cradles his face in his hands. He lifts Kurt's chin and their eyes lock. "No regrets?"

"No regrets," Kurt repeats and he smiles softly and wonderfully. "Will you come with me to the woods tomorrow?"

Blaine nods. "I'll go anywhere with you."

Kurt frowns, it's sudden and heart breaking. "That's what I was afraid of."

Before Blaine can ask what that means, he's being pulled across the roof and back through the open window and then, into the bathroom to clean up. Kurt kisses his lips sweetly before climbing back into bed, leaving the covers flung back for Blaine to climb in and when he does, Kurt holds his hand and they fall asleep together in silence.

* * *

The tiles are painfully cold beneath his feet and he shivers as he scurries around the kitchen, filling a tray with orange juice and coffee and eggs and toast. He's trying to be quiet, trying not to wake the rest of the house. He unplugs the kettle and tidies up and then grabs the tray and runs out the door, but when he reaches the end of the staircase, he stops, stills, freezes.

"Where are your clothes, Blaine?" his mother asks, eyes wide with shock. Her hair is pristine and her clothes are pressed and neat. She's at the very top, watching him curiously. She towers over him like a dark mountain.

Blaine glances down at his boxer shorts. He does not say a word. His mother rolls her eyes and folds her arms and then gives him a cutting glare.

"You can't go around the house naked, Blaine, it isn't proper," she says. "And just what do you think you're doing with all that food?"

"I'm hungry," Blaine says and he doesn't sound convincing, even to himself. "And I'm not naked," he adds, remembering just how often he and Kurt had been naked around the house.

"Go to your room and put on some clothes," she orders. "If you eat all of that you'll make yourself sick."

Blaine simply climbs the stairs, slips past her and encases himself inside his room, where a boy sits naked on the floor, legs crossed, eyes closed, hands resting on his thighs. He leaves the tray down and goes to join Kurt.

"Your mother and father are still house," Kurt says, not moving an inch.

"What?" Blaine asks, wondering if he had heard right.

"They're here?" Kurt enquires, one eye opening.

"Oh," Blaine says, getting comfortable. "Yes, they're home."

Kurt shuts his eye again, smiles. "No," he says. "They're house."

"House," Blaine repeats, slowly.

"As opposed to 'home'," Kurt explains. Then he's singing, "And a house is not a home, when there's no one there to hold you tight, and no one there you can kiss goodnight."

Blaine is mesmerised by the beauty of his voice, by the way it sets his heart alight and makes him smile dreamily. Kurt opens both of his eyes and looks at Blaine and when he simply sees a goofy smile, he sings again.

"And a house is not a home, when the two of us are far apart, and one of us has a broken heart." He pauses and closes his eyes again. "Your parents are house," he repeats.

Blaine understands now. He nods. "My parents are house."

* * *

They're dressed in Blaine's clothes and their fingers are interlaced and their shoes make a crunching sound as they trod through the trees. It's a mild day with a blinding sun, but it's not too warm. Kurt is humming and there is a smile on his lips and Blaine enjoys the quiet and the company. He's not sure what they are, not sure if he can tell people he has a boyfriend once he returns to school in a month's time. He wants that, but he hasn't found the courage to ask about it.

Kurt walks him through the woods until they reach a bald patch. It looks as though there's been a fire. Kurt stops, stays still, keeps holding Blaine's hand.

"If you close your eyes and listen closely, you can hear the cries of the lost souls."

Blaine's blood runs cold, but Kurt chuckles.

"I'm kidding around," he says, squeezing Blaine's hand. "There's bonfire here ever Hallowe'en. I watch from the shadows."

"Every year?" Blaine asks.

Kurt nods his head. "Can I show you my house?"

Blaine is aware of Kurt not referring to it as his home, but he nods and says, "Please." Kurt takes him further into the woods and he stops rather suddenly by wall of large rocks.

"Tell me what you see," Kurt urges.

"Rocks," Blaine tells him.

Kurt sighs. "I'd have thought that by now you would be able to see past the exterior," he says. "Look again."

Blaine squints his eyes and tries to pull something, tries to feel what Kurt wants him to see, but he can't. "Can I have a clue?"

"You haven't got a clue," Kurt jokes, pressing a little kiss to the tip of his nose. "This is where they live," he says.

"They?"

"The wolves," Kurt says in a whisper. "They circle here late at night and they howl at the moon like it's stolen something precious from them."

Before Blaine can ask any questions, Kurt shows him around the corner, where the rocks open into a sort of cave or alcove. He can see flecks of silver.

"I slept here once," Kurt confides. "They arrived right here and they growled and I was petrified. I thought I was going to die. I sat inside for a long time, waiting, trying to come up with a plan. I couldn't move and then I heard the panting and growling growing closer and I closed my eyes and I cried for my Daddy. I was sixteen." He laughs and it's humourless. "A large wolf stood in front of me that day and it stared. I could see the intent in its eyes, Blaine. It was going to tear my throat out."

"What did you do?" Blaine asks, holding Kurt's hand tighter.

"I sang," he told Blaine. "I sang and it lay down and closed its eyes."

"No," Blaine said, incredulous.

"It's true," Kurt promises. "Eventually, it fell asleep and I had to tiptoe past it as it slept. It was terrifying."

"What did you do then?"

"I went home," Kurt told him.

"Home," Blaine repeats.

"Yes," he replies. "But this is my house. They frighten me. I hear them at night, but they don't come inside, not ever. I always wondered if they would some day. If they'd kill me as I slept."

"Why did you sleep here?"

Kurt turns to him and kisses his nose again. He smiles. "If I told you all my secrets, you wouldn't be hiding a mystery man in your bedroom."

Blaine smiles back and takes both of his hands. "I can't bear the thought of you being this close to danger."

"Then keep me safe," Kurt says and Blaine can't shake the fact that it sounds so much like a plea. "I'll be your guardian angel if you be mine. Don't let me run away."

"I won't," Blaine says solemnly. "Never."

"You promise you'll always find me?"

Blaine feels panic rising and he doesn't know why, doesn't know what Kurt means, but he nods. "I promise," he says. "Is there a chance you'll go missing?"

"I've been lost for years, Blaine," Kurt says, looking down at their feet. "It's why I can't go home."

"Where's home?"

"Around."

"Around?"

"Around."

Pause.

"Do you wear clothes at home?"

Kurt nods. "I was normal once."

"You're normal," Blaine exists. "Spectacular, wonderful, extraordinary, but normal. No abnormalities whatsoever."

There's a hint of a smile now and it lights up the world brighter than any sun ever could. "I wish everyone saw it that way."

"If I had to, I'd show the world how...how...everything you are," Blaine says, fighting to find the correct words. "Everything."

Kurt gives him a bright smile. "Instead, I'm your dirty, little secret."

"Never," Blaine tells him. "You're only a secret because you want to be."

"Sometimes, secrets are better," Kurt says and he moves forward and rests his head on Blaine's shoulder. "When secrets stop being secrets, bad things happen."

Blaine doesn't say anything, just holds him close.

"Promise me you'll keep me a secret," Kurt says. "So there's less chance of bad things happening."

"I promise," Blaine says again. "This means I get you all to myself, right?" He tries to bring a sprig of humour to the mix.

Kurt leans back and gives him a serious look as he says, "I think you've had me all to yourself since the moment I breathed my very first breath."

Blaine cannot begin to comprehend what it means, or how it's possible, but he takes it, keeps it, locks it up inside his heart and throws the key into an incinerator, so that no one will ever be able to get at his secret. They'll have to tear him apart first.

* * *

**The song is obviously A House is Not a Home. Thanks for reading, let me know what you think :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**I own nothing. Once again, it has been a long, long time. I'm so sorry. It won't be so long ever again. I swear. Hopefully someone is still here to read on? If not, that's okay, I like writing this fic. But if you are here, that's fabulous, I love you, I hope you like this. Except some angsty angst.**

* * *

**Chapter 4:**

Blaine's parents leave again and the house is quiet, peaceful, home again. They laze around the house and cook and watch movies and sing along to the silly songs and jingles and they kiss and kiss and kiss until their lips are bruised and swollen and strawberry red. Each boy has learnt the curves of the other's body and they feel cold when they are not pressed flush together in an embrace, warm and safe. Kurt cries sometimes. Blaine doesn't know why and he doesn't ask questions. He did, the first time, but Kurt had simply kissed him and told him that he was letting the cold out, so Blaine had moved closer and held him so that he didn't freeze, despite the warm, sultry day outside the weather glazed windows.

Kurt insists on driving to the Lima Bean for coffee every day now. He doesn't get out of the car. He stays inside, wearing Blaine's pyjamas and wrapped up in a patchwork quilt. Blaine goes inside and orders a mocha and a medium drip and Kurt sips on it for hours, long after it's gone cold. Blaine asks what it is about the Lima Bean that makes Kurt stare longingly, a haunting gleam in his eye. Kurt shrugs and tells him it reminds him of New York. Blaine asks him if he's been to New York and Kurt closes his eyes, curls into his side and breathes.

"I've been a thousand times," Kurt says sadly. "But only inside my head."

Blaine holds him after that, lets him get it out of his system. Later, he's back to his usual, bubbly self, kissing Blaine spontaneously and telling him about the stars and the wolves and the fact that he swears the wind is classically trained. Blaine laughs and smiles and enjoys the way their fingers curl so perfectly together and he's still confused and he still has no idea from whence Kurt came, but he doesn't care about any of that, because for once, he's happy and more importantly, in love.

He makes the mistake of telling Kurt this.

"If you had a time machine, where would you go?" Kurt asks one day.

They're in the back garden, down beneath the shade of the trees, lying nude in the prickling grass, their fingers sticky and tongues stained from the raspberries they've been sharing. Blaine looks to the sky as if it has suggestions, but it doesn't and he tries to think of a magical place he can vociferate, for he knows that Kurt, in all his magnificence, will undoubtedly tell him something spectacular.

"I think I'd like to see the dinosaurs. But from afar."

Kurt giggles and turns over onto his stomach, his elbows propping him up.

"I want to go back and find you again," Kurt tells him. "There were days when I could feel you out there and I couldn't find you and I needed you so many times, but I didn't know where you were. I could feel you. I knew you were close, but I couldn't find you. I want to go back and see where you were and then make myself go to you."

Blaine still doesn't understand, but he thinks it's beautiful and he leans in to kiss Kurt's sweet lips. He means it only to be chaste and brief, but Kurt laughs quietly, eyes darkening, and he dives forward until Blaine is pinned beneath him. Blaine feels the hot hardness against his thigh then. Blaine realises then that they've rolled out from under the shade and that if anyone looks out their window, they'll see them there; two naked boys pressed together, arousal obvious.

"Someone will see," Blaine tells Kurt.

"I want the whole world to see," Kurt says in a whisper as he kissed Blaine's mouth slow and dirty.

The smallest sounds makes Blaine stop, freeze in the warmth. "Can we...inside?" Blaine asks against Kurt's lips.

"I can't tell if you want to be inside," Kurt says, eyes darting towards the house and back again, "or _inside_." And this time, he takes Blaine's right hand and lifts it behind him until his fingers are pressed along the line of his backside.

Blaine swallows hard. Kurt laughs out loud and bends to kiss him again, but before he does he says, "Or maybe you want _me_ inside _you_."

Blaine comes after minimal stroking and Kurt comes soon after against his leg. They go into the house later and they shower and fall asleep together on the living room floor, curled around one another, smiling in their sleep.

* * *

The paths turn orange and brown and it gets darker sooner and Blaine rakes the leaves while Kurt lays in the pile and watches him. It's chilly and there is a feeling of dread in Blaine's stomach, because he is to return to school in a week's time. He knows he'll have to board at Dalton sometimes, but at Dalton he can't have his Kurt.

He pulls the leaves with a grating sound and then he's being pulled into the pile. He finds himself with an armful of Kurt and he's being kissed and it's nice. Kurt pulls away, smiles, reaches up and strokes his hair.

Blaine opens his mouth and he says it, breathless, all at once and quickly, before the words run away and hide.

"_I love you."_

He says it because he means it, because it's been dancing on the tip of his tongue for a long time and because he thinks it'll fix that which is broken and that which is likely to break.

It doesn't.

Kurt's bright eyes darken and water and he dives from the leaves and disappears back inside the house. Later, Blaine finds him on the floor of the shower, naked and crying and cold. He scoops him up in his arms, feeling his clothes getting soaked but not caring and he holds him until the tears run dry and he's being kissed so hard that his lips feel blackberry-bruised and his skin is burning from the touch of long, thin fingers.

They fall together and Blaine's frightened he'll break the boy in his arms, but in all his fragility, Kurt is strong as the bonds which hold him and he holds Blaine together as Blaine holds him and they're two halves of a whole as their bodies form one, skin touching, lips pressing, hands leaving red shapes. It's late when they drift off to sleep, thoughts fading and dying for another day. It's warm and it's quiet and right before he succumbs to slumber, Blaine hears the small snuffles and he tighten his grip and keeps them both safe.

* * *

He cries quiet, heart-draining tears when he wakes before the sun the following morning. He looks down at the lonely boy and his breath catches at the thought of leaving him, but he knows. He knows.

He cries and watches as the tears drop down and form tea drops on the tanned skin of his friend, his boy, his Blaine and he's cold, shivering, so he drops and tries to gain heat from Blaine's body, but all he can hear is the drum beat of his heart and the faint, distant, cold whisper of those three words that have changed everything and nothing all at once.

Blaine curls against him like a flower opening its petals, like he's welcoming him, telling him he can stay 'til he dies, just like the flowers as the winter falls in. Suddenly, he's hit with the realistion that it's like the seasons, that they're like the seasons, when warmth turns to icy cold in a matter of days. They're the seasons. Blaine is summer; warmth, flowers, sun and citrus heat and Kurt, he's winter; cold and dark and wet and poisonous, a cool layer of ice which covers everything before it has the chance to get away.

Blaine, he's still safe because the Autumn is still to come and Kurt knows more than ever what he must do.

The tears and the shakes and the regret and want and need and pain shudder and infect his entire body and he knows that if he stays a moment longer, golden eyes will open and fill with curiosity and he will be forced to explain and find the words to express everything he feels and he cannot do it, cannot find the right things to say or do or maybe he'll give in and let them die, let his poison seep into the veins of goodness and everything that is right and beautiful and promising. He cannot let that happen.

Kurt lifts himself up and bends to press a final, sweet, cold, burning kiss to Blaine's soft, pink lips and he knows his tears are on the other boy's cheeks, knows, without question, that his own tears will be there when the sun rises and wakes him from his temporary death. He considers inking an excuse, considers a voice message, considers everything and anything and still, arrives back where he began. Kurt rises like the sun, but earlier and sadder and more toxic and he closes his eyes, breathes in his scent a final time, pulls on Blaine's clothes, before climbing out the window and down the trellis and disappearing into the treacherous, dark, cold woods, where he will wander aimlessly for an X amount of time. He knows nothing, only that he has done what is right.

Blaine opens his eyes with the burn of the sun. It's yellow and beaming and bright and he turns to find the empty space in the bed. It's cold and it's warm, but it's mostly cold and he wishes with his all that he's in a bad dream, a nightmare from which he will soon be pulled only to be kissed by a boy with a smile warmer than the summer sun on a summer's day.

He never wakes up.

He stays where he is for a while and he wonders if Kurt is in the bathroom, in the kitchen, in the garden, but he knows, he knows, he knows: He's gone.

Blaine stays where he is for longer than is documented and then he dresses and goes outside and calls his name until his throat is dry and rough and hurting, but he never finds him. He goes back inside and he sits by the window and watches, as if he is back at the beginning. He had been empty then, but now, he feels as if he has lost part of himself. It hurts.

That night he dreams of a pale boy with icy eyes and a beautiful everything, but when he wakes, he's back where he began, sore and empty, alone and wanting.

He knows not to expect what he is expecting, but he does it anyway: He waits.

* * *

**So, some angst yes and more to come. (SOON). Let me know what you thought, if you're still here to think :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm updating again, look at me gooo lol. Alright, thank you for the reviews, I'm so glad people are still interested and reading (I'M KIND OF IN LOVE WITH YOU ALL) and sending me theories (well, one, but a really gorgeous one). This one has a little tiny bit of depression, but hopefully nothing triggery, just the expected sadness. I hope you like it! Oh and Tomorrow from Annie is included!**

* * *

**Chapter 5:**

His feet are cold as he treks barefoot through the grass. Twigs and dirt and mud and petals and dead grass cling to his skin. He walks until his legs fail him, until his lungs ache and his body is weak and incapable of moving on. So he stops.

He looks around.

Observes.

He falls to the ground and lets himself cry. It doesn't matter now that the tears stain his cheeks, doesn't matter that he'll regret crying later when his head throbs as he pushes on. It just...

Doesn't matter.

He closes his eyes and casts his mind back to a boy who at that very moment is calling his name relentlessly into a dark and cold woodland. A boy whose cheeks are tear stained and tender, whose head aches already. A boy who wishes he could take the pictures from his mind and get them down on something, anything, just so that he can find him again.

They need each other, Kurt knows it's true, but he knows from experience that to need something, to want something, is not the same as what is good for you.

He isn't good for Blaine and Blaine isn't good for him, because Blaine makes him feel like he's worth something, like there is hope for the future and Kurt knows, when he stops and looks at everything through a realistic lens, he knows that there is nothing there for him, nothing more than what he's already been handed.

Eventually, when the rain slows and dies, he gets to his feet and continues on.

* * *

Blaine has too many questions, questions which, in all likelihood, will never be answered, but he continues to hope. Days and nights and hours and minutes and seconds and what feels like years, too many years, pass and his hope dwindles, but never disappears.

_It's grey, dark, but there's a light, one twinkle, a single glimmer of hope._

He watches the trees and he visits The Lima Bean in hopes of finding him there, but there's never any trace.

Blaine starts to wonder if he was ever there at all.

His mother and father are back at the house again. His father doesn't notice, but his mom does and she asks.

"Why are you always so down? And what is so interesting out there that you can sit for hours on end just..._staring?_"

Blaine turns from his place at the window and he blinks the glaze from his eyes.

"I'm sick," he says quietly.

She reaches out and presses a hand to his forehead. It takes a lot of strength not to shy away from her touch.

"You don't feel warm."

"I'm sick," he says again and he lifts a hand to the space where his heart should be. "In here."

Blaine's mom stares at him for a while and then she sits down beside him. He watches the way her face falls into smooth plains, watches her eyes soften and the way she twists so that her body language shows she is getting comfortable, that it's okay.

"He's gone, isn't he?" she asks.

It shocks him.

"Yes," he says anyway, because it's true.

She nods. "I knew he was there, you know."

That's the confirmation Blaine needs, to know that he is real, that he exists.

"Did you love him?"

He doesn't bother to hide it, doesn't bother to fight.

"Yes," he says glumly.

"Did he love you?"

"Not enough to stay." He pauses. "Does Dad know?"

His mother considers his question and then nods. "Your father is a lot of things," she says. "Deaf isn't one of them."

Blaine blushes all the way up and down his body. "Why didn't either of you ever say anything?"

"You're always so lonely." She sighs, defeated. "You seemed happier."

"I was."

"What's his name?"

"Kurt."

"Kurt," she repeats. She reaches up and traps a stray hair behind her ear. "A lot of Kurts in the world."

Blaine nods. He knows.

"None like him," he tells her.

"He was broken," she says, like she knew him and Blaine doesn't know how she can dare to say such a thing.

"You didn't know him."

"He was broken," she says again, like it justifies everything and anything.

"Cracked," Blaine corrects. "Cracked, but not unmendable."

"You're too young to be worrying about fixing cracks, Blaine."

"I've been trying to fix my own for years," he says and it cuts the air, like his tongue is a knife. "I have experience."

She nods again. "Do you know why he left?"

Blaine shakes his head. This is one of his many questions. "He's a drifter," he says, but he knows it isn't true, knows Kurt craves homeliness and warmth.

"Do you think he wants to be found?"

Blaine considers it. He's unsure. Maybe, though, maybe that's why he left. He wants Blaine to follow. Wants him to find him, to bring him back. He stops, because he remembers Kurt's words.

_Don't let me run away._

_You promise you'll always find me?_

He smiles, for the first time in six days.

"I think so," he tells his mom, because who wants to be lost?

_I've been lost for years, Blaine. It's why I can't go home._

She stands up and brushes down her thighs. "Then find him."

* * *

Three days later, he's back at school and he's going through the motions like he's mourning. His friends notice, even his teachers, but he brushes it off says the words "_I'm fine_" more times than he can count and he thinks.

Blaine has no idea what to do, doesn't know how to find him. His mom doesn't ask again, but he feels her eyes on him sometimes, like she's waiting for an update that Blaine can never provide. He's glad, in a way, that she says no more because Kurt had told him that when secrets stopped being secrets, bad things happened. He lives and he follows his routine, but still, wishes he could do more.

After school, he goes home and he does his homework, showers and climbs under the covers and he cries, because the scent he loves so much is gone, like it's followed Kurt out the window and away, far, far away, never to return. Sometimes, Blaine feels as if the world is much larger than it is. He doesn't understand how a person can just disappear, doesn't get it, doesn't want to accept it, but life leaves him with few choices. It leaves him with none, in fact.

It is a lot like grief.

* * *

**1. Denial.**

_He's gone, he's never coming back, he's lost, lost and Blaine had promised to never let him run away, to always find him and he doesn't know how. _

_If he wants to come back, he'll come back, if he wants to be found he'll come back._

_He's not coming back._

_He was never here in the first place._

Blaine tries something new. He rearranges his furniture and there, in the corner behind his bed, he finds the remains of a daisy. It's crumpled, faded and dead, but it's there and he knows what he already knew: Kurt is real.

* * *

**2. Anger.**

_Why would he leave him? How could he do it? Why would he promise to be his guardian angel when all he did was float and fly far away, like he hadn't even been there in the first place?_

_And in that moment, he hates Kurt. Hates everything. He hates life for giving him something so precious and ripping it away. He hates Kurt because he's not here and he said he would be, promised._

Blaine finds himself humming the tune he first heard Kurt sing and he feels the ache in his heart as it contracts and yearns and he knows that there is a very fine line between hate and love and the only reason he hates him is because he has been deprived of loving him.

He loves him, he loves him, he loves him and he would do anything to have him back.

* * *

**3. Bargaining.**

_He would give anything to have him back, anything in the world._

"_If I have him back before the week ends, I'll go to church on Sunday."_

"_I won't jerk off for a month if you just bring him back to me."_

"_Please, God, if you're there, bring him back to me. I'll give up anything in the world for him. Anything."_

He doesn't believe in God, per se, but he believes there is a higher force out there, somewhere, so he bargains and begs and pleads and still, nothing.

* * *

**4. Depression.**

_It's hot and sweaty and clammy beneath the sheets of his bed, but he stays. He can feel the emptiness in his stomach and he's starting smell and the room is a mess, but he doesn't care. What's the point without Kurt?_

_He's not good enough to fix it, doesn't know what to do, so the only option is to...not. He lays and he waits for something, anything, and it's all too far away._

He cries so much that the tears are of the norm and his parents are concerned (even his dad). They try to make him eat, they let him stay off school and his mother suggests a counsellor, but he won't go, can't find the energy or motivation to get up and go.

He's lost, unsure, scared, helpless and most of all, so sad.

* * *

**5. Acceptance.**

_The sun will come out tomorrow,  
bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow,  
there will be sun!_

_Just thinking about tomorrow,  
clears away the cobwebs and the sorrow,  
'til there's none!_

_When I'm stuck with a day that's grey and lonely,  
I just stick out my chin and grin and say,  
oh, the sun will come out tomorrow,  
so, you gotta hang on 'til tomorrow,_

_Come what may,  
tomorrow, tomorrow!  
I love ya, tomorrow!  
You're always a day away!_

The Warblers stop by every Tuesday to sing to him. Today, it's "Tomorrow", from _Annie. _Something clicks in him towards the end of it and he's not sure what, but he feels like getting up again. He knows that the pain isn't going to disappear, knows it won't be easy, but it's a slow and uncomfortable process when you're locking yourself away, alone in a dark, hot room, crying. He may as well get up, face the day, prepare himself and above all, try, because Kurt deserves that. They both do.

When he opens his eyes on Wednesday morning, he's greeted by the sun and he smiles, just a little bit.

Blaine gets up, showers, dresses, cleans and eats and then he sits down at his desk, takes a pen and a sheet of paper and he starts to make a list.

* * *

**Next update will be soon againnnn. Let me know what you thought? :)**


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